


Bend, bruise, beg

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Punching out my dancelines [10]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Butt Plugs, DWMP verse, Desk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Overstimulation, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Roleplay, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-08-18 07:31:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8153989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: 1,001 kinks Maedhros never knew he had until Fingon helped him find them.





	1. Piercings

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Тысяча и один кинк Маэдроса](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9078565) by [rio_abajo_rio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rio_abajo_rio/pseuds/rio_abajo_rio)



> Note: This fic will not actually have 1,001 chapters. Probably. It could! Maedhros is a very deviant individual. 
> 
> These stories will take place throughout Fingon and Maedhros's relationship, from the very early days to much later on. Each chapter will focus on a new kink and I will indicate the timing at the beginning.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fingon has something new to show Maedhros, and Maedhros is determined to be responsible about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. This takes place early in Fingon's freshman year of college. Maedhros is a senior and this is their only overlapping year at Beleriand U.

The house was empty and silent but for the tick of the slow kitchen clock and the tap of Maedhros’s pen against his notebook. It was unusual for the place not to be bustling with brothers and roommates and he kept glancing at the clock, for all the good it did him, counting the minutes until Fingon’s last class of the day was over and he arrived for their usual Thursday afternoon homework date.

At ten after three by the kitchen clock – and twenty-five after for real – Fingon was knocking at the front door and then breezing in without waiting for a response. Maedhros had just gotten into a groove on his essay, and looked up only briefly to smile as Fingon came in.

“I’ll be right with you, let me just finish this thought.”

Fingon dropped his bag on the floor and crossed to the table. “Hey. Finish soon, I got something new.”

“Oh?” Maedhros was absorbed in the last paragraph of his assignment, trying to articulate dominant visual mores as expressed in the fashion of the late 18th century without betraying the fact that he didn’t fully understand the concept. He sucked the end of his pen and tried to remember how to spell ‘ocularcentrism’. “What kind of new something?”

“A new piercing.”

Maedhros blinked and took his pen out of his mouth. Fingon had turned up with new piercings twice before, and Maedhros had always reacted with a mixture of trepidation and interest. On the one hand, Fingon’s beauty hardly needed enhancing – much less enhancements that involved putting holes in him - so it always felt unnecessary, even blasphemous. On the other, he could not actually admit that any of these additions had detracted from Fingon’s looks. One had been another earring, high up on the cartilage of his very sensitive, very appealing ear, and the other had been a hoop through his eyebrow that was not Maedhros’s style _at all_ , but that gave Fingon such an arresting, roguish look that Maedhros couldn’t stop staring.

Not that this was anything new.

He studied his friend now and could see nothing that was obviously freshly punctured. Fingon was wearing a snug black tee shirt and dark jeans, his sunglasses pushed up on his forehead. It was a good look, and Maedhros returned to his writing so as not to be caught staring.

“What is it, then?” he asked, his voice coming out bored in his attempts not to sound too eager.

“Well…” Fingon stepped closer, and Maedhros shifted in his seat at the warmth of his presence and his irresistible smell. He’d once spent some time hunting for the cologne that Fingon used, but Fingon had just laughed and told him, “Arm & Hammer deodorant and _sweat_ , man.”

“Well, what?” Maedhros began, and then looked up.

This close, it was clear that Fingon’s shirt was very tight indeed and revealed every…contour. Every new, slightly accentuated contour. In case Maedhros didn’t get the point right away, Fingon reached up and tweaked one.

“Fin.” Maedhros swallowed hard. “You pierced your…”

“Nipples? Yeah. What do you think?” Fingon casually tugged his shirt up and Maedhros’s eyes were drawn magnetically to the gold glinting on his chest. Two small barbells, drawn through taut skin.

Maedhros gaped; the visual had elicited a tingling urgency and anticipation in him that was not at all expected. He closed his mouth with a snap and said tersely, "What were you thinking?”

Fingon put his head to the side. “Clearly not the same things you’re thinking.”

“Have you thought about what people will think every time you go to the beach? Don't you worry people will judge you? What if they get stuck on things? What if they get infected? What happens when you go through a metal detector? You’re only 18, how long are you going to keep these, are they permanent? What -"

“Mae,” said Fingon kindly. “My eyes are up here.”

So they were.

Maedhros met them, and he must have been glaring because Fingon looked uncertain and dropped his shirt again. "I thought you would li- "

“When did you get them?”

“Couple days ago.”

“And you didn’t tell me beforehand?” Maedhros felt hurt; they spoke or messaged every day, even when they didn’t see each other, and Fingon was always quick to fill him in on the details of his day. Except for these details, apparently.

“I thought you might be weird about it. Silly me.”

“I’m not being _weird_ , I’m just asking questions! Like _why_? Why did you get them? What are they for?”

Fingon grinned. “What are nipples for?”

Maedhros tried to think back to his lone freshman bio class. “Well, in embryonic development – ”

“They’re sexy, Mae.” Fingon shrugged. “I got them because they’re sexy.”

Maedhros’s mouth was dry again, his gaze drawn back to the front of Fingon’s shirt. "I never even _thought_ about that part of you as sexual," he said, as sincerely as he could manage.

“Liar," said Fingon, with far more genuine sincerity and a glint in his eye.

“Well,” said Maedhros, and crossed his arms. “I assume you have to take care of the – the wounds? Clean them, and so on?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Fingon, who looked like the conversational rug kept being twitched out from under him.

“And have you?”

“I mean, sure, I’m not going to let them rot and drop off or anythi - ”

Maedhros’s heart stopped. “Could that happen?”

“ _Mae_ ,” said Fingon in exasperation. “Just tell me if you like them or not.”

“Get on the couch,” said Maedhros, and strode away.

When he returned, Fingon was in the living room sitting on the edge of the couch, his expression both curious and apprehensive.

“Take off your shirt,” said Maedhros and Fingon looked up at him from under his lashes, a slow grin beginning at the corners of his mouth.

But when Fingon slipped the black tee shirt over his head and Maedhros produced a large bottle of rubbing alcohol, a cloth, and a businesslike expression, Fingon’s smile dropped.

“Mae, are you serious?”

“No bits of you are going to rot and drop off on my watch,” said Maedhros, and knelt before Fingon.

He dampened his cloth with the alcohol and leaned forward to dab gently at the area around the piercing. It was slightly reddened and a bit puffier than usual, but it didn’t look as bad as he feared. Fingon made a small noise and a repressed movement as the cloth touched his skin, and Maedhros looked up at once, letting out a sharp breath.

Fingon made another noise.

“Does it hurt?”

“A little,” said Fingon, in an unusually quiet voice.

“I’ll be gentle,” said Maedhros softly, and bent back over Fingon’s breast. With cotton and alcohol he delicately cleaned the area, fingers brushing lightly over the polished gold and sometimes over the peak of Fingon’s nipple itself. Both nipples appeared harder than usual, pulled tight against Fingon’s smooth skin, and Maedhros wondered if it was the cool air or the piercing itself that did it. He was finding himself breathing quicker each time Fingon made a stifled sound at the sting of alcohol, and he shifted on his knees, rising up higher. His head bumped Fingon’s shoulder as he bent to his task, and Fingon grabbed his upper arm, another muted whimper escaping him.

“Too much?” whispered Maedhros, his breath huffing over Fingon’s damp skin, and Fingon shook his head, his lips clamped shut like he might be suppressing further sounds of pain. To his shame, Maedhros found himself uncomfortably aroused by each shallow breath, each stilled, frantic movement Fingon made under his hands. Was he excited by his cousin’s discomfort? It couldn’t be, he wanted Fingon to be safe and cared for and pain free forever, he lo – he loathed the idea of Fingon’s pain. But he couldn’t deny the increasing constriction of his jeans, nor the way he was biting his own lip to keep his breathing under control.

His thumb brushed over Fingon’s other nipple, and Fingon’s hips jerked, the fingers of his right hand digging painfully into Maedhros’s shoulder.

“Shh, it’s okay,” murmured Maedhros, barely conscious of what he was saying. He shifted forward, his torso coming to rest between Fingon’s legs, pressing against the stiff fabric of Fingon’s jeans. He laid a kiss below Fingon’s collarbone because he could, and Fingon moaned, his hips rising again. Maedhros’s mouth was inches from Fingon’s breast, he could – he could so easily take the delicate gold bar in his mouth, close his lips around it and press his tongue to the tip –

“Maedhros, Maitimo, _Maitimo,_ god,” cried Fingon, and shook all over.

After a while, Maedhros got to his feet, the bottle and cloth still clutched in his sweaty hands. Fingon was sprawled on the couch, boneless and bare-chested and dazed, and Maedhros took one look at him and knew he had to escape.

“Gonna go put these away,” he muttered, and fled.

In the bathroom he dropped the cleaning materials and fell back against the wall, fumbling blindly for the fly of his pants. He had just discovered he was some sort of sadist, getting off on his cousin’s cries of pain, and even now he was powerless against imagining them again, thinking about what sounds he might have elicited had he tugged gently at the barbells with his teeth, pressing himself between Fingon’s spread legs and tonguing his taut nipples –

It was only about a minute before he was biting the back of his hand and spilling himself into the bathroom sink.

Maedhros ran the water for a while, washing his hands over and over and waiting for the furious blush to subside from his cheeks and ears.

By the time he returned to the living room, Fingon was composed once more, wearing his shirt and looking at him with a faint sparkle in his eyes.

“You never answered my question,” he said finally as Maedhros hung in the doorway, unable to figure out how to segue back into a normal conversation.

“What question?”

“Do you like them?”

Maedhros hesitated for a moment then walked quickly across the room and dropped onto the couch beside Fingon.

“Yes,” he said, his ears flaming again, and he hid his face against Fingon’s neck.


	2. Praise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not five minutes into their first time together, Maedhros discovers something new and Fingon _definitely_ doesn't exploit it.

“God, Mae,” Fingon breathed, above him. “God, I can’t believe this.”

Maedhros, whose heart had been in his mouth the entire time Fingon was sinking down on him, couldn’t find anything to say, but he too was finding it all hard to believe.

Instead he stroked his thumbs over Fingon’s hips and watched the way Fingon’s breath hitched in his throat and the way Fingon's muscles shifted under his skin as he tightened his thighs around Maedhros’ waist. He watched the subtle adjustments Fingon made as he started to move on top of him, and the way Fingon’s hands settled so possessively on Maedhros’ chest. He began to suspect that Fingon, for all his youth, had a far better idea of what he was doing than Maedhros did.

As if he could sense Maedhros’ sudden self-doubt, Fingon whispered, “God, you fuck me good.”

Maedhros squeezed his eyes shut.

“I knew it, I knew you would feel amazing, everything about you is amazing.” Fingon moaned and rocked back on him. “Maitimo…”

What Maedhros knew, suddenly, was that he was going to horribly embarrass himself if he didn’t take control. He sat up and grabbed Fingon around the waist, the movement making them both gasp. Fingon whimpered, and Maedhros clutched him close, trying to soothe, and then reversed their positions, laying Fingon down against the mattress. Fingon’s legs tightened instinctively around Maedhros’s waist, and he gave a soft cry as Maedhros settled back down against the cradle of his hips.

“You make,” whispered Maedhros, unable to stop himself, “the most incredible sounds.”

Fingon cracked an eye open and grinned. “But you need me to be quiet or your brothers are going to hear.”

Maedhros had forgotten about that factor. “Ah. Yes, probably.”

“I can’t help it,” said Fingon, his voice low and raspy. His fingers twined hard into Maedhros’ hair as he arched his back, encouraging Maedhros’ movement. “You’re so gorgeous and sexy and you’re _inside me_ and you make me feel so good…”

Maedhros wasn’t ready for the surge of arousal that hit him at Fingon’s words, pressing up behind his eyes and making his vision swim and his heartbeat roar in his ears. He froze, throbbing, certain that if he moved even an inch the moment they’d been putting off for so long was going to be over all too soon.

“Mae?” Fingon was still stroking his hair. “Please don’t stop, you’re so good, you feel so good, you’re so beautiful….”

“Oh my god,” said Maedhros, and sat back abruptly on his heels, his retreat eliciting a protesting noise from Fingon.

He closed his eyes and tried to count backwards from one hundred. He could hear Fingon pushing himself up on his elbows, and then Fingon touched his shoulder gently.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just…need a moment,” said Maedhros, eyes still tight shut, certain that if he looked at Fingon, naked and aroused and with his thighs still splayed open – He groaned and covered his face with his hands.

_Think about baseball or something._

“Are you okay?” Fingon’s voice was concerned, and Maedhros hated himself for making it so.

“No. I mean, yes, I’m fine,” he said from behind his hands, and then, because Fingon was getting him into the habit of revealing unintentional truths, “I just got overwhelmed. You’re…you’re…” He peeked out between his fingers and saw Fingon arch an eyebrow inquisitively. “You’re perfect,” said Maedhros, and buried his face in his hands again.

He heard Fingon draw in a long, shaky breath, and then felt arms around him.

“You,” murmured Fingon, “are the hottest, most spectacular, totally worth the wait asshole cousin I could ever have asked for. Please put your beautiful dick back in me right now.”

Maedhros groaned loudly, certain that in conjunction with Fingon’s soft, heated words, even the slightest breeze would be enough to finish him. He fumbled blindly to cover Fingon’s mouth. “Oh my GOD you are making it worse.”

“Making what worse?” asked Fingon, muffled by Maedhros’ hand, and then he was straddling Maedhros’ lap and sinking down on him again, tipping Maedhros’s face up to his and shaking off his hands.

Maedhros stared up at him, paralyzed with pleasure, and saw understanding dawn in Fingon’s eyes.

“Oh,” breathed Fingon, and then a wicked grin crossed his face. “You are doing so good,” he said, his voice low and husky, deeper than it had been so that it went through Maedhros like a knife through butter. “You are so good, so perfect, you make me feel amazing, you are everything I have ever wanted…”

Maedhros came harder than he had in his entire life.

When the rushing subsided from his ears and the fog cleared from his eyes, he made a choked noise of pure embarrassment and buried his flaming face in Fingon’s shoulder. Fingon stroked his hair and grinned against his temple.

“Praise really does it for you, huh?”

“I’m sorry I ruined it,” said Maedhros into Fingon’s shoulder, refusing to confirm or deny Fingon’s knowing question, but mortified at the truth.

“Mae,” said Fingon fondly. “If you think we’re doing this just once, and just one way tonight, you are sadly mistaken. As soon as you’re recovered you’re going to get on all fours and use that beautiful, talented, irresistible mouth on me until I scream loud enough that even your _father_ hears me.”

“Oh, no,” said Maedhros faintly as he felt his spent, over-sensitive, traitorous cock twitch in response, and Fingon laughed, delighted.


	3. Spanking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like any healthy person discovering a new kink, Maedhros tries to provoke his boyfriend into it rather than simply asking nicely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. This is set in the year after [Closer to the Edge](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2271618/chapters/4990956); i.e. within a year of Maedhros and Fingon getting back together after having broken up because Maedhros ~~is an idiot~~ of really good reasons probably. Fingon is a senior in college, Maedhros is three years out of college.  
>  1\. Originally posted as 'Black and blue and red all over' on Tumblr.

Maedhros yawned, rolled over, and almost rolled out of bed.

Fingon caught him, wrapping an easy arm around his waist and hauling him back onto the mattress. The blankets slid to the floor as the sheets tangled around their legs, and Maedhros made a face while Fingon chuckled and kept an arm around him.

“Have I mentioned I hate your bed?”

“Few times.” Fingon’s mouth was pressed to Maedhros’s neck, and his words tickled the nape. Maedhros squirmed and then settled, his spine curving against the comforting warmth of Fingon’s chest. He still felt silly sometimes, being the small spoon when Fingon was three years younger and more than half a foot shorter, but Fingon’s arm was strong and secure and his breath was comforting and ticklish and he was laying small kisses to each knob of Maedhros’s spine, so really, Maedhros couldn’t fuss.

He did keep complaining about the bed, though.

“The mattress is terrible too, I think I can count the springs with my shoulder blades. You should get a pillow topper, or better yet, an entirely new bed.”

Fingon made a movement with his mouth against Maedhros’s skin that felt like the sensory equivalent of an eye roll. “Some of us still live in the dorms, bub, and if we want our RA stipend for at least one more semester we have to endure the furniture there provided.” There was a hint of teeth in his next carefully placed kiss, and Maedhros shivered. “I would totally spend the night at your house, but – ”

“My little brothers are staying with us right now.”

“And god forbid they lay eyes on me.”

Maedhros pulled out of Fingon’s arms – almost sliding out of bed again – and sat up, making a show of rolling out his neck and stretching his arms. “It’s not that,” he said, after a suitable interlude. “I just don’t want to explain to two eleven-year-olds what the noises are coming from my room, and how it’s nothing to worry about, it’s just– ”

“Just your big brother plowing your cousin into next week,” said Fingon, patting a set of invisible twins on their invisible heads.

“Finno.” Maedhros flushed as if there were actually impressionable youths watching them, and then tried to restrain the blush. Fingon watched him with a glint in his eyes, which only made it worse. Fingon had many times expressed his fondness for how easily Maedhros showed color, but it still embarrassed Maedhros .

“What? And a fine job he does of it. Be proud.” Fingon slapped Maedhros on the ass as Maedhros made to get out of bed, and Maedhros flushed even more and sank back against the pillows, forgetting he’d been intending to get up.

Unsure why he was suddenly so flustered, he tried to look stern and quelling instead. “You’re being ridiculous. Dial it back.” He sounded prissy even to his own ears, and Fingon just grinned and pursued him down to the mattress, endeavoring to kiss him until he stopped thinking about younger brothers or too-small beds.

But Maedhros was thinking about something else entirely.

He could still feel the light sting of Fingon’s hand on his bare skin. He couldn’t stop wondering if it had left a mark, and if it hadn’t, how much he would have to be struck for it to leave one. He found himself hardening at the thought, and more still as he contemplated the mix of pain and pleasure he could experience under Fingon’s hands. The sound of his palm against flesh had been unexpectedly satisfying…

They had already fooled around a little that morning, the usual sleepy kisses and Fingon’s cheerful grumbles about morning breath and his equally cheerful removal of Maedhros’s boxer briefs. Maedhros had retrieved the briefs, saying they should get breakfast before it was too late and the dining hall stopped serving it, but now he was regretting the proposition.

“So,” Fingon was saying now. “Waffles before the dining hall closes? If we’re lucky we can sit through to the lunch switchover and not have to pay twice.”

He sat up, scratching his stomach, and Maedhros felt a swell of disappointment. He shifted against the sheets, the feeling of Fingon’s teasing slap already fading.

As he thought frantically about how to keep Fingon from getting up, he realized that this had happened once before. It had been that one disastrous time he had attempted an Ultimate practice with Fingon and his teammates. He had of course thoroughly embarrassed himself, as all the height and arm reach in the world had been unable to make up for his total lack of coordination. Fingon, always an overly generous soul, hadn’t seemed to think he’d been that terrible, though he had clearly been suppressing a grin as Maedhros joined him on the sidelines, panting and grass-stained.

“Good hustle out there, sport,” he had said with a determinedly straight face, and whacked Maedhros on the rear. Then he had grinned and kissed Maedhros on the cheek, whispering, “Thanks.” At the time, Maedhros thought the thrill of arousal he had experienced in that moment had come from an over-eager reaction to Fingon’s gratitude and kiss, but now…

He wriggled uncomfortably on the bed, and wondered how he might be able to provoke Fingon into smacking him again.

“Your father,” he started to say, but then realized he wanted Fingon to hit him on the backside, not across the face. He tried to think of another strategy. “Maybe I’m not ready for waffles,” he said, accidentally on purpose tangling his legs around Fingon’s and arresting his progress out of bed.

“For god’s sake,” said Fingon. “It was your idea!”

“I don’t like the dining hall’s scrambled eggs,” said Maedhros vaguely, and contrived to execute a maneuver that would plop Fingon back against the pillows. “And I never feel comfortable eating there anyway, I hate being around undergrads.”

“That’s ironic.” Fingon looked amused as Maedhros attempted a full body wiggle and pinned himself to Fingon’s side. “Sweetness, are you having a stroke?”

“No,” said Maedhros, frustrated.

Fingon laid an arm over Maedhros’s waist, and Maedhros moved strategically until Fingon’s hand was cupping his ass. The feel of Fingon’s broad hand against him made him breathless again, and he tried to figure out what he needed to do to make Fingon raise it and bring it down sharply against him.

“I hate having breakfast here,” he said, turning his head to mouth at Fingon’s pectoral and taking the nipple lightly into his mouth.

“The hell,” said Fingon, clearly wondering if the action and the statement were related.

Maedhros dropped his head. “And I hate your bed still.”

“You could always get out of it,” said Fingon. “Seriously, Maitimo, what are you after?”

Maedhros pushed back against Fingon’s hand, which gripped him reflexively. “Am I being annoying?”

“Kind of,” said Fingon, his fingers tightening before loosening and stroking him lightly. “But you’re naked and on top of me, so I can’t really complain.”

“You should complain,” mumbled Maedhros. “You should…” His voice trailed into incoherence, and Fingon bent his head to listen.

“Did you just say _punish you_?”

Maedhros looked at Fingon pleadingly. This was getting ridiculous, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask for what he was craving. Fingon could always read him with almost uncanny accuracy; Fingon could read things about Maedhros that even Maedhros didn’t know. Maedhros had grown used to Fingon knowing things without being told, doing things without being asked, knowing Maedhros better than Maedhros knew himself.

He couldn’t possibly need Maedhros to elaborate now, could he?

Maedhros could see Fingon thinking, the lights behind his blue eyes flickering, and when Maedhros pressed back into Fingon’s hand and Fingon looked at the faintly flushed skin beneath his palm, Maedhros knew he had put the requisite evidence together. He flushed even deeper and waited expectantly, but Fingon just stared down at him, the silence stretching.

Since they had gotten back together, Fingon had started to let these silences develop. Before their break-up he had always filled them compulsively, answering his own questions and bridging gaps to make up for Maedhros’s inadequate responses. But now, on the far side of That Winter, he would simply wait, forcing Maedhros to say the things he usually let go unsaid.

“Finno,” whispered Maedhros. “You know…”

“I think,” said Fingon, and he ran his hand over the slight curve of Maedhros’s ass, “I think I am going to have to hear you ask for it.” His tone was neutral, but his face was deadly serious.

Maedhros contemplated pretending nothing had ever happened. He contemplated saying, “Never mind” and getting up for breakfast after all. But Fingon’s palm was still resting lightly on Maedhros’s buttock and Maedhros wanted to feel it striking against him so badly it shocked him.

“Please,” he said hoarsely. “I – ”

“You?”

“I want…” Maedhros licked his lips. Fingon was still watching him carefully, like he suspected Maedhros might bail, and Maedhros needed to prove him wrong.

“I want you to spank me,” said Maedhros in a rush, and Fingon took a long breath as his words fell into the space between them.

Then Fingon’s hand tightened once more on Maedhros’s ass, and Maedhros felt faint. “You want me,” said Fingon, still brutally neutral, but his voice had deepened and Maedhros squirmed, “to spank your ass while you get hard spread over my lap?”

Saying the words had nearly ended Maedhros, but hearing them made him lose the ability for speech altogether.

Maybe the ability to breathe, too.

“Is that a no?”

Maedhros shook his head frantically. He crawled closer, stretching himself over Fingon’s lap and rising up on his forearms, and he could hear Fingon take another sharp breath.

“What are you doing?” whispered Maedhros, when he felt Fingon move slightly but not touch him.

“Pinching myself,” said Fingon, a laugh in his voice. “To see if this is a dream.” It clearly wasn’t, because the next thing Maedhros felt was Fingon pinching him sharply as well, and he jumped and gasped and felt himself harden.

“My goodness,” drawled Fingon. “Guess you’re not dreaming either.” He ran a hand from the nape of Maedhros’s neck all the way down his spine to the small of his back.

“I want you to spank me,” said Maedhros again, feeling so transparently desperate that he had to turn his head away and close his eyes against the blush that was now burning all the way down to his chest. “Over your lap. I want you to…to slap my ass. Until I come.” And then, because he had already mortified himself beyond usual limits and might as well go for broke, he opened his eyes again and turned his face up to Fingon. “ _Please_.”

 

* * *

 

Fingon looked down at the long body spread over his lap, at the impossible expanse of light, freckled skin; at the flush moving down Maedhros’s neck and shoulders, the tips of his ears practically glowing. Fingon touched the faint bruise he had given Maedhros’s throat the night before, and Maedhros turned instinctively into the touch, stretching his pale neck and making the tendons in it stand out sharply. Fingon pressed his fingers against the mark, deepening it, thinking about the sensitive, still paler skin of Maedhros’s ass. Thinking about what it would look like with his handprint on it.

 _I just walked into a desk_ , Maedhros had said once, sheepishly, after Fingon had exclaimed with horror over a spreading sunset of discolored skin on Maedhros’s hip. _I bruise easily._

“You bruise easily,” said Fingon, his eyes still on that ridiculous acreage of skin. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” said Maedhros, without hesitation.

“You really want this.”

“ _Yes_ ,” said Maedhros, and before he had even finished the syllable, Fingon brought his hand down.

Fingon felt the sharp sting of his hand striking flesh and as he did, Maedhros flinched and cried out, his voice tapering into a moan.

“Oh,” said Fingon softly. “Wow.”

It wasn’t something he had ever really considered or fantasized about; taking Maedhros over his knee and…doing this. Anything to do with Maedhros naked and aroused and in his lap was going to be fun, of course, but this was an urge of Maedhros’s he hadn’t actually expected. A vague suspicion niggled at him, even as he took a breath and raised his hand again, Maedhros panting beneath him. “Is this just more of your constant need for punishment?” he murmured.

Maedhros made a small sound that wasn’t entirely of denial. “I like it when you’re rough with me.”

Fingon hesitated, unsure that he wanted to participate in more of Maedhros’s self-flagellation – much less to be the tool of it.

But Maedhros wasn’t done. He moved a little against Fingon’s legs and looked up, his need clearly making him more honest than usual; perhaps he sensed that Fingon needed more. “I feel safe when you’re in control,” he said, his voice quiet but clear. “I want you to hurt me, I _do_ , but it’s not because I’m… being super Catholic about it or anything.”

Fingon grinned a little at this, even as Maedhros’s first words made his heart turn over in a burst of protective love.

“I trust you,” said Maedhros softly. “I like when you’re rough because I know you won’t actually hurt me when it counts. I like knowing my pleasure or,” he shivered a little, “or my pain is totally in your control. I trust you with both.”

“Okay,” said Fingon, blinking rapidly. “Good answer.”

He was doing this for Maedhros, he thought.

He had not expected the effect it would have on _him_.

He had not anticipated the sound Maedhros would make when struck, or the way he would jerk forward against Fingon’s thighs, his already stiff cock smearing pre-cum against Fingon’s skin. Fingon hadn’t registered just how turned on Maedhros was until now, and as usual, the mere knowledge of Maedhros’s arousal was enough to make him painfully hard. He hadn’t prepared himself for Maedhros’s low moans of pleasure, or the way he flinched at the slap and then almost immediately pressed his hips back for more, angling his bony ass into Fingon’s palm. He hadn’t bargained on the way Maedhros was going to beg, babbling like some internal floodgate had opened, unable to stop himself as Fingon struck him again. And all the while, Maedhros's skin reddened under his hand.

Fingon took a deep, shuddering breath, and wondered how long he’d be able to last.

“Please,” whispered Maedhros. “More.”

Not long, Fingon decided. It wouldn’t take him long.

It didn’t.

Maedhros’s dirty talk was neither eloquent nor coherent, but it was deadly. Fingon wanted to laugh in delight, wanted to seize Maedhros and kiss him, but he also didn’t want to stop anything that was making Maedhros sound like this.

“Please, it’s so good – harder, please, please – you’re so good to me, I love you – fuck, _ow_ , don’t ever stop – ”

“Jesus, Mae,” whispered Fingon.

“Ah, ah, god that hurts – no, give me more, please, please, you’re so good at this – _ahhh_ – harder, keep going, don’t stop – ”

And Fingon didn’t stop, even as Maedhros’ broken-voiced pleading pushed him over the edge quicker than he would have thought possible without direct touch. He didn’t stop even as his own cock jerked and spurted against Maedhros’s sweating chest; he brought his hand down again and again as he whispered, “Yes, that’s right, you’re doing so good. You're so hot, _Jesus_ , Mae, you have the most perfect voice for begging, there is nothing sexier than you screaming my name…”

“Findekáno!” cried Maedhros, and then moaned so decadently in response to a particularly resounding slap that Fingon half thought he might come again.

Maedhros himself didn’t seem to notice Fingon’s come dripping on his chest, or Fingon’s own increasingly labored breath, so eager for the next blow that Fingon suspected he was torn between a painful need to come and a desire for this to go on for as long as he could take it.

Fingon was more than willing to make it go on, willing to do anything at this point to keep up that beautiful broken pleading, but then he looked down and registered the way Maedhros was starting to bruise. He hesitated, pulling back right before his next blow landed, leaving Maedhros with only a glancing tap. Maedhros looked fragile like this, even breakable, and Fingon wondered –

Maedhros whimpered under him. “No…”

“No?” Fingon laid his hand gently on Maedhros’s backside. “Had enough?”

“No!” Maedhros shoved himself back. “You, you – _P_ _lease_ , Finno.”

Fingon raised his hand and Maedhros flinched in delicious apprehension, but once again Fingon struck him only lightly.

Maedhros let out a sob of frustration. “ _Please!”_

Fingon tapped him once more to see him writhe, then grinned and let him have it as Maedhros wailed, burying his face in his arms.

Fingon looked down at Maedhros, down at the places where flushed skin was taking on the look of his own handprint, feeling the way Maedhros’s thighs were trembling and his stomach was fluttering against Fingon’s thighs with each rapid breath. Fingon let out a low, appreciative growl and murmured, “God, you bruise up good for me. You’re not going to be able to sit for a week without thinking of my hand on your ass.”

As he spoke, he brought his hand down a final time and this time lingered, curling his fingers into Maedhros’s cleft, and Maedhros cried out and came, spilling hot over the inside of Fingon’s thighs. Fingon’s moan joined his, a long sigh of appreciation and awe as Maedhros shook and whimpered in his lap.

“Damn, Maitimo.”

Maedhros seemed on the brink of collapse, and Fingon grabbed him. Gathering his long-limbed cousin into his arms, he tugged Maedhros back to curl against him, Maedhros’s legs spilling over the side of the bed as he flung them over Fingon and buried his face in his chest.

“Thank you,” Maedhros croaked eventually. “Thank you, that was…”

“Unexpected?” suggested Fingon.

“Perfect,” mumbled Maedhros, and let Fingon stroke his sweaty hair away from his face and kiss his damp temples. Then he lifted his head, looking abashed. “Oh. Can I – Can I finish you off? I’m sorry, I wasn’t giving you enough attention, and I – ”

“Mae.” Fingon laughed and gestured illustratively. “I came before you did.”

Maedhros looked astonished, even as he stared at the evidence that this was so. “How?”

“How? You try having a naked, gorgeous man writhing around in your lap begging to be spanked and let’s see how long you last.”

Maedhros blushed, and then a calculating look came into his eyes. “Okay.”

Fingon was still stroking Maedhros, his hand now brushing tenderly over his bruised flesh. “Okay what?”

Maedhros nuzzled the underside of Fingon’s jaw. “Okay, let’s see how long I last with a naked, gorgeous man writing around in my lap begging to be spanked.”

“Dude,” said Fingon, half laughing, “this was _your_ kink!”

Maedhros cocked an eyebrow, and looked down pointedly. “Clearly,” he said, “It is yours as well.”

Fingon thought.

“...Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, let’s try it.”

There was a knock on the wall then, and both of them jumped. “Please,” came the voice of Fingon’s neighbor through the wall. “ _Please_ don’t.”

.

.

.

 

**Epilogue**

Maedhros was too mortified to go to breakfast after all, and it took a fair amount of cajoling on Fingon’s part to even get him out of the room.

“Oh, come on,” Fingon said. “You’re not even the one who lives here, _I’m_ their damn RA. This is much more embarrassing for me.”

In the end they wound up back at Maedhros’s house for a late brunch with Maglor and Celegorm, who both took one look at Maedhros’s flaming cheeks and Fingon’s barely suppressed grin and rolled their eyes in unison.

As Maglor puttered at the stove, the twins dashed down the stairs, catapulting themselves at Maedhros.

“Nelyo! Where have you been? Tyelko said you were out getting your biscuits toasted last night. Did you bring us some?”

Amrod swung off Maedhros’s arm while Amras looked in some concern at Fingon, who was leaning against the wall, his lips pressed tightly together as tears squeezed out of his closed eyes.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” said Maedhros, glowering at Fingon, who was making small snorting noises as he tried to get himself under control.

“Brunch is ready,” announced Maglor.

“Don’t worry, no biscuits,” said Celegorm, winking.

Maedhros kicked Celegorm as he passed, and hissed, “You shouldn’t be allowed to talk to children.”

Maedhros made to drop down in his seat with a sigh, but as soon as his backside touched down he gave a terrible grimace and a muffled exclamation and rose hurriedly to his feet again. Amrod looked at Fingon, who seemed about to start the soundless crying thing again, and opened his mouth to say something.

Celegorm, limping slightly from Maedhros’s kick, hurriedly stuffed a waffle square into Amrod’s mouth. “Eat up quick, buckaroos, and I’ll take you outside to teach you how to form a maul.”

Maedhros ate standing at the counter.

As Celegorm herded the twins outside and Maglor wandered into the living room to pick at his guitar, Fingon looked over at Maedhros, who was now trying to ease himself into a chair with an expression of great discomfort.

“A little sore, huh?”

“Shut up.”

Fingon grinned. “Want me to kiss it better for you?”

Maedhros gave him a haughty and disdainful look – then glanced around, making sure none of his brothers were in the room, and grabbed Fingon’s hand to tug him upstairs. “…Yes.”


	4. Plug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fingon gives Maedhros a gift. Everything goes completely smoothly and absolutely no shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Takes place post-chapter 80 of DWMP. Fingon and Maedhros are recently engaged.

“I got you an engagement present.”

Maedhros looked quizzically at Fingon. “Another?” He wiggled the fingers of his left hand so that light caught the green stone set in silver. “You already got me a ring.” The ring had appeared quite swiftly, in fact, given that Maedhros had thought that his own proposal would be a surprise. Fingon had been aloof on this mystery, but Aredhel informed Maedhros that Fingon had actually had a ring picked out for the past year. Maedhros supposed that this shouldn’t surprise him.

“Also, you got me the best engagement present of all,” he added. “You said yes.”

“Aw, gross,” said Fingon affectionately. “I hope your vows are just that cheesy.”

“We’re…we’re not just using standard ones?” Maedhros’s eyes drifted out of focus and he began to frantically churn through his reserves of creativity and expression.

“Of course not, but we’re getting off topic, Mae,” said Fingon severely. “I got you a _present_.” He handed Maedhros an elegant black box – much larger and heavier than a ring box, but small enough to fit in Maedhros’s palm. Maedhros weighed it curiously in one hand.

“It’s heavy. Is it a pet rock?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“No. Open it, you ginger atrocity.”

Maedhros lifted the lid, and nearly dropped the box. “Fingon!”

Fingon looked innocent. “Yes, sweetness?”

Nestled in pink satin and glinting in the light was a heavy, curved, shining steel… plug. Maedhros could have faked ignorance as to its function at one point, but after nearly a decade with Fingon – not to mention living with a debauched and wretched group of brothers – there was no denying what it was.

“You got me a _butt plug_ as an engagement present?” he hissed.

“It’s a size medium,” said Fingon. “Best on the market. Stainless steel, easy to wash, discreet handle…”

“It’s huge,” said Maedhros, setting the box on the table with an illustrative thump.

“You’ve taken bigger,” said Fingon, and winked.

This was technically true, but Maedhros sized up his engagement present in some alarm, questions starting to churn through his mind.

“Rest easy,” said Fingon, patting his shoulder. “We don’t have to use it right away. Not to give away some of the content of my vows, but we’ve got our whole lives together to put things up your butt! No rush into doing anything, just sit on it for a few days while you consider.” He paused. “Ahaha. Word choice.”

 

* * *

 

The following weekend, Fingon checked in.

“Are you ready to give your gift a spin?” He settled onto Maedhros’s lap and nuzzled his ear. “No pressure, but I may have been getting totally worked up thinking about it. Just imagining what you’d look like, sliding it into yourself for the first time and what noises you might make when you feel it on your - ”

Maedhros shrugged. “I already tried it.”

Fingon dropped his hands from Maedhros’s shoulders. “What! Without me?”

“It was a trial run,” said Maedhros, in what he considered reasonable tones. “I didn’t want to use it with you for the first time in case I messed up. I thought it might be embarrassing if I couldn’t get it to work, and I wanted to make sure it fit without incident. It’s quite big.”

“It’s not as big as me,” said Fingon in aggrieved tones.

“Yes, but _you_ have more give.”

“Not that much,” said Fingon, even more annoyed. “ _And_ it’s smaller than me in both length and girth.” He folded his arms. “I checked.”

“Really?” Maedhros put his hands on Fingon’s hips and looked up at him. “Does this mean you had to get aroused and then lay yourself out next to it?”

“Of course, I wanted an accurate comparison.”

Maedhros pictured this for a moment and decided he liked the visual. “Hmm. What did you do after? I like thinking of you holding yourself against cold steel…” His voice trailed off as he leaned forward to nibble Fingon’s ear lobe.

“ _I_ like the idea of you carefully working it into your ass to make sure it fits. And I wanted to watch.” Fingon was too mature to whine, but his voice was distinctly petulant.

“You still can,” Maedhros pointed out. He lifted Fingon off his lap and set him on the couch, then got to his feet and held out his hand. “Bedroom? I’m ready – oof, don’t _pull_ like that.”

 

* * *

 

Even the second time around, knowing what to expect, Maedhros had a hard time not making noise as he lay back against the pillows and slid the plug into himself. The cool steel warmed up quickly on contact with his skin, and there was something pleasant simply about the feeling of the slicked metal against his skin. He glanced at Fingon through his half closed eyes and realized that there was absolutely no reason to hold back; Fingon was watching him with a blazing intensity and biting his lip at every sound Maedhros made. Maedhros smiled, closed his eyes, and let himself moan.

It was easier to get in this time, easier to convince his body not to resist the intrusion. Maedhros started to enjoy the sensation, a lazy heaviness as he stroked himself with one hand and pressed the plug deeper. He moved ostentatiously at first, aware of giving Fingon a show, but soon it was no act, his eager movements entirely organic and enhanced by Fingon’s audible appreciation. Soon he was too occupied to think of performance, his toes curling against the sheets.

“It’s – it’s, Fingon, it’s too much,” gasped Maedhros at last, and Fingon was at his side in an instant, hand pressed to Maedhros’s breast.

“What is it, does it hurt?”

“No,” groaned Maedhros. “I mean it’s not enough. I want you in me. Please.”

“But you still have – ”

“Take it out. I want you inside me, please, please…”

Fingon didn’t need telling a third time. Gently he eased the plug out of Maedhros as Maedhros whimpered and tried not to pull desperately on his own cock, waiting for Fingon to be ready.

“I’m here,” breathed Fingon, positioning himself above Maedhros, “I’m here – No condom, that’s okay, right?”

“Yes.” Maedhros dug his fingers into Fingon’s shoulders. “Oh my god, move.”

It was over quickly for them both, Fingon finishing first with a long groan into Maedhros’s neck, and Maedhros following after, his thighs shaking as he raised his hips and refused to let Fingon slide out of him.

“I want you to stay in me,” he said raspily, as Fingon kissed his closed eyes, his temples, the tip of his nose. “I love having you in me.”

“Mmm,” Fingon murmured. “I’ll stay as long as the flesh cooperates.”

“Fingon.”

“Yes?”

“Put it back in.”

“Put what back in?”

“The plug,” whispered Maedhros. “Before I get up, put it back in me. Keep me filled up with your come, even after you pull out.”

Fingon stared at him, and Maedhros blushed. “Too much?”

“No,” said Fingon. “I was just having a moment of falling in love with you all over again. You can be so fucking filthy, baby, I _love it_.”

He pulled back gently, and Maedhros made a soft sound, tilting his hips as Fingon’s cock slid out of him. Fingon sat back on his knees between Maedhros’s legs and touched him carefully.

“You’re really open,” he murmured. “You’re really – god, you’re beautiful. This shouldn’t hurt, but you might be sensitive. Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Maedhros closed his eyes and bit his lip as he felt the slick steel press back into him – with far less resistance this time – until the base settled against his perineum and he felt its solid, reassuring weight within him.

Fingon stroked his thighs and kissed the inside of his knees, gaze fixed between his spread legs and grinning at the inadvertent murmurs Maedhros was making. He gently extended one of Maedhros’s legs, letting it rest on his shoulder, and kissed all the way up the inside of his thigh. Maedhros was still soft, too wrung out to get aroused again this quickly, but he smiled at the touch and twined his fingers into Fingon’s curls, letting Fingon press his cheek to the point of his hip.

Maedhros entertained the idea of drifting off like this, his body loose and satiated, though the sweat drying on his skin was starting to prick goose bumps all down his arms and legs. Fingon’s breath was warm and regular, lightly stirring the curls of hair around the base of his cock, and Maedhros wondered if it was odd to feel so soothed by the sensation. He shifted, stretching his legs out to search for the blankets. He mumbled at the reminder of the heaviness within him, having forgotten for a moment it was there.

Fingon nuzzled against his groin. “How long do you want to keep it in,” he was just starting to ask, when the doorbell rang.

Maedhros sat up at once, letting out a gasp of discomfort as he did. “Shit! What time is it?”

Fingon fumbled for his phone on the bedside table. “Uhm… Oh _damn_ , it’s 7.”

“What! How did we – how could we – ” Maedhros looked around wild-eyed and rolled off the bed, wincing again but grabbing his pants from the floor and yanking them on without bothering to put on underwear. “My parents are here! How did we not keep an eye on the time?”

“I told you we should have replaced that clock,” said Fingon, who was pulling on his shirt and hunting among the sheets for his own underwear. “Are these clothes nice enough for where they’re taking us?”

“Who cares? We just need to let them the fuck _in_ before they think something’s up.”

“Mae,” said Fingon, pulling on a sock. “They are taking us out to celebrate our engagement; the jig is up that we sleep together.”

Maedhros fumbled the buttons on his shirt. “But being too busy screwing around to be ready for a family event – not being more on top of time – it’s irresponsible, it’s inconsiderate – ”

“Stop channeling your father, there’s no need.” Fingon, who was dressed now, grabbed Maedhros’s chin and kissed him swiftly. “He’s at the door, go answer it.”

Maedhros nodded, swept a hand through his disordered hair, and skittered into the hall. Fingon let out a sigh and kicked a pair of underwear under the bed, and then Maedhros was back in the doorway.

“Finno?”

“Yes?”

Maedhros looked agonized. “When you look at me, I’m not – I’m not… _obviously_ experiencing prostate stimulation, am I?”

 

* * *

 

Nerdanel beamed at him from the welcome mat. Fëanor was rubbing his shoulder, and Maedhros knew that Nerdanel had just pinched him to keep him from commenting on how long it had taken Maedhros to get to the door.

“Nelyafinwë,” said Fëanor, as Nerdanel rose up on her toes to hug him. “You are looking well, I suppose.” His eyebrows knit. “Is the scruffy look part of this hipster chic I’ve been hearing so much about?”

Nerdanel tucked a strand of hair behind Maedhros’s ear. “You look fine, Maitimo. Your hair _is_ a bit all over, though. Want a scrunchie?”

“Hello!” Fingon bounded up behind Maedhros, laying a dazzling smile on Fëanor and Nerdanel. Nerdanel beamed back, but Fëanor appeared unaffected by it.

“Fingon.”

“Fëanor,” said Fingon, and Maedhros was relieved that he had resisted ‘Uncle’. “Good to see you both.”

Fëanor looked meaningfully at his watch, and Nerdanel finished tying back Maedhros’s hair; he’d had to crouch down to allow her to reach him. “Your father is feeling fidgety about the reservations,” she said, “even though we have plenty of time. So let’s hit the road before he gets fidgetier, eh?”

“Fingon,” Maedhros hissed, as they grabbed their jackets from the coatrack and made a show of looking for their house keys. “ _It’s still in_.”

“I’m aware of that.” Fingon shot a glance over Maedhros’s shoulder, but Fëanor was busy running a finger over their countertops. “You’re just going to have to…live with it for a bit.”

“Live with it?” Maedhros tried to scream in a whisper. “Fingon, I have a quarter pound of steel up my ass.”

“And quite a bit of my come,” said Fingon, grinning, but composed himself as Maedhros looked at him in anguish. “You’ll be fine.”

“I’m taking it out first bathroom we get to,” said Maedhros heatedly, bending to lace up his shoes and wincing again. “Aaugh.”

“Or you could just enjoy it,” said Fingon, in a still lower voice. “Get all worked up again…”

“Are you _serious_?” Maedhros cast Fingon a disbelieving look and at the glint in his eyes, narrowed his own in suspicion. “You totally had stuff like this in mind when you got it, didn’t you.”

“Maybe,” said Fingon cheerfully. “Let’s go!”

 

* * *

 

They hit their first speed bump pulling off Fingon and Maedhros’s road. Maedhros let out an immediate yelp and just as immediately stuffed his fist into his mouth. Fingon grabbed his free hand.

Fëanor did not seem to notice, grumbling in the BMW’s front seat. “Over-zealous public works, so sure people can’t control their own speed they have to make road traps all over the damn place. That best not have damaged my undercarriage…”

Maedhros squeezed his eyes shut.

Fingon’s thumb was stroking soothingly over his palm, but he also seemed to have been taken by a fit of silent giggles.

“Why don’t we go the back way, through the old part of town?” Nerdanel asked. “I love the gas lamps and the old cobblestone streets…”

Maedhros pressed Fingon’s hand frantically, but a perverse demon seemed to have seized his fiancé, because he was saying, “That sounds charming, let’s!”

 

* * *

 

Fëanor sipped his wine – a Chablis, decent vintage but only tolerable given what he was paying for it – and considered his eldest son.

Maedhros had always been an anxious boy, one who seemed to have trouble keeping his toes from tapping nervously or his eyes shifting everywhere but the person sitting across from him. It was interesting; Fëanor had observed him from afar at times and noticed that with others, Maedhros had a certain cool composure that Fëanor rarely observed in person. Perhaps it was just that Maedhros was more willing to be himself around family while he put on a mask for strangers. Fëanor approved of this in general – nothing wrong with a good mask – though his son’s natural twitchiness could be annoying.

It was particularly bad tonight: Maedhros moving frequently in his chair and fiddling with the napkin in his lap as if trying to distract himself. He blushed whenever he made eye contact with his parents, and he’d excused himself to the bathroom several times.

Fëanor narrowed his eyes and turned his attention to his son’s fiancé. Fingolfin’s eldest seemed far more at ease than Maedhros was, and Fëanor fought to keep his automatic ruling – arrogant, cocksure – from tainting his perception of the boy. Clearly he was devoted and respectful enough, and Fëanor had noted with approval the ring on Maedhros’s left hand. He wasn’t sure of the etiquette for men and engagements, but he liked that Fingon had been swift to reciprocate Maedhros’s gesture and not skimped on anything cheap, either. To be sure, green was too easy a choice given Maedhros’s coloring, but the setting was fine and the cut more than acceptable. He would have to examine it more closely later, when his son could actually hold his hands still.

Fingon also seemed attentive to whatever nervous fit was taking Maedhros; he kept his arm over the back of Maedhros’s chair, and leaned in solicitously at intervals to murmur to him. Sometimes his murmurs would make Maedhros take a breath and still for a while, but others would cause Maedhros to squirm worse than ever.

As Maedhros excused himself once more for the men’s room, and Fingon followed soon after, apologetically noting he needed to return a quick call – ‘About the campaign’ – Fëanor turned to Nerdanel.

“Have you noticed that Nelyo is – ”

“Sweating like a pig? Yes.” Nerdanel sipped her own Chablis with apparent enjoyment, then set it down and ate a leaf of arugula before the waiter cleared her plate and replaced it with a dessert menu. “Poor thing, I can’t imagine that he’s still nervous about meeting with us after all this. I hope he knows we’re delighted for the two of them.” She looked severely at Fëanor, who rested his arm on her chair and tried to look blameless. “We _are_ being delighted for them, aren’t we?” She used ‘we’ in the way she had, where it was quite clearly meant ‘you, Fëanáro’.

“Of course! Didn’t I send them a gift?” Fëanor was back to thinking about Maedhros. “Sweating, was he? They should turn up the air conditioning in this place, I don’t care that it’s fall.”

“Yes, his shirt was starting to show it. Perhaps he needs a stronger deodorant,” brooded Nerdanel. “Lord, I bet he’s using that all-natural one that Makalaurë’s so fond of, the one that does _nothing_ for perspiration.”

“Our son’s armpits aside…”

Fingon had returned, looking cheerful. “Sorry again, I had to take that. Did I miss anything?”

“Dessert menus came,” said Nerdanel, waving one. “Tempted?”

“Always,” said Fingon, as Maedhros returned, and said, “Care for some peaches and cream, Maitimo?” just as Maedhros said, “Has the check come?”

“Don’t be rude and rush,” said Fëanor, tapping his fork on the table. “We wish to _treat_ you, son, don’t be afraid to indulge.”

“I shall try not to be,” said Maedhros, lowering himself with great care into his chair as if it might break under his weight. Fëanor checked surreptitiously under the table. Any furniture that could not support his son’s admittedly long frame was another sign – like the high heat – that the restaurant was subpar. He couldn’t see any obvious issues with the furniture, though he did notice Fingon’s hand resting on Maedhros’s leg – fairly high above the knee, he thought, for a mere reassuring touch. He’d just opened his mouth to say something when Nerdanel’s hand appeared from nowhere to squeeze his own thigh rather hard, and he broke off, wincing.

“Excellent peaches,” said Fingon later, licking his spoon unnecessarily, and Fëanor was too preoccupied with Nerdanel pinching him to notice Maedhros make a choked noise and squirm once again.

“I have a suspicion,” he said to Nerdanel later, as Maedhros all but rushed from the restaurant, leaving Fingon to grab both their jackets from the backs of the chairs and the doggy bag from next to his plate. “Perhaps he reacted poorly to one of the dishes. I wondered at all the ups and downs – I bet it was the mussels. I have half a mind to call the manager and complain.”

“Oh, Fëanáro,” sighed Nerdanel. “Let the boy fidget without assuming someone is to blame.”

“Someone generally _is_ to blame,” said Fëanor, but didn’t press the issue.

Listening to Maedhros’s suppressed noises of discomfort in the backseat as they drove them back to their apartment, Fëanor’s heart welled with sympathy for his son and his gastrointestinal distress. He felt too a surge of slight pride at Maedhros’s endurance and lack of complaint. To make it through a dinner without overt rudeness or grumbling over his evident distress was high class behavior. To be sure the wriggling was a bit childish, but only someone who knew him quite well, Fëanor thought, would have noticed.

Maedhros had been staunch and unflinching in the face of food poisoning and a really very shoddy Chablis. Perhaps Fëanor had raised a man of strong character, after all.

He’d have to do some rewriting, but he resolved to have his toast at their wedding reflect some of this pride. It would, he thought with grim satisfaction, bring everyone to their emotional knees.

The toast by the father of the _other_ groom wouldn’t stand a chance in comparison.

 

* * *

 

It had been a long night.

Though they did not take the back way home and thus avoided the bumpy cobblestones, to Maedhros’s naked relief, Maedhros was clearly reaching his limit of external and internal pressures. Fingon gripped his leg, trying to be as silently encouraging as possible. He felt he had done a lot better at keeping his hilarity under control as the evening wore on; less successfully restrained was his not insignificant physical interest in Maedhros’s state.

Still, listening to Maedhros’s suppressed gasps over the speed bumps as they neared home, Fingon started to feel guilty for his part in the whole incident. He internally rehearsed a contrite apology as they bade Fëanor and Nerdanel goodnight and thanked them again. Nerdanel kissed them both and Fëanor shook their hands, and then they were heading up the stairs to the apartment, relieved of duty at last.

Happy the night was over, Fingon laid a comforting hand on Maedhros’s back as they stepped through the door – noting that Maedhros’s shirt was soaked through with sweat – and was just starting to say, “Hey, look, you made it!” when Maedhros whirled on him.

Fingon let out an _oof_ as he was pinned to the wall and Maedhros gave an animalistic growl that Fingon had never heard from him before.

“Mae, are you oka- ”

“Okay?” snarled Maedhros. “ _Okay_? Do you SEE ME?”

Fingon resisted the urge to say ‘Yes, and it’s why I’ve been half hard at the sight of you all night,’ and instead said soothingly, “So you’re in a bit of a state…”

“A bit of a state!” Maedhros drove him harder against the wall. “You have no idea what I have endured. I tried to pull it out in the bathrooms but I realized I wasn’t wearing underwear and I was full of your – And where would I have put it anyway, these pockets are miniscule – And did you think it was _funny_ to stroke my thigh under the table like that? Did you not think I was having a hard enough time? And the way you ate those _peaches_ – ”

It had been funny at the time, but now Fingon was having second thoughts; Maedhros’s teeth were bared, his eyes wild, and he looked more frantic and terrifying than Fingon had ever seen him.

“Maitimo,” he tried.

Maedhros put his teeth to Fingon’s throat and whispered, “If you don’t _fuck me right now_ I swear to god I will die. Or you will.”

“Okay, baby, calm down, you know I’m happy to fuck you.” Fingon tried not to laugh. “Just give me a minute to get out of my shoes.”

“No!” Maedhros practically howled, and one of his hands fisted in the front of Fingon’s shirt, the other in his hair. “Not a minute, I cannot wait a minute, Fingon, _please_ – ”

“Whoa,” Fingon managed. “Okay, I’m going as fast as I can.”

“Not fast enough.” Maedhros tore at Fingon’s clothes. He was panting for breath, flushed all the way down his chest, his skin gleaming with sweat and his pupils so dilated that his usually pale eyes were almost entirely dark. “Get _naked_.”

“I’m getting.” Fingon shucked his shirt, noting that a Maedhros so maddened by arousal that he tried to open Fingon’s clothes with his teeth was _deeply_ attractive. He made to undo his pants but Maedhros was too impatient, tearing the fly open and ripping them down Fingon’s legs. “Easy with the pants, my mother gave me those – Oh, what the hell.” He pushed his shorts down, his cock springing free, his own arousal now in full force. 

Nothing he was experiencing seemed to be at all close to what Maedhros was going through, however. Maedhros had shoved Fingon down to the floor with his pants still around his ankles and mounted him while trying to get his own clothes off, incoherent with frustration and urgency, actual tears standing in his eyes.

Fingon caught his wrists gently in one hand and held Maedhros’s shaking hands away as he helped him out of his pants. Maedhros’s cock was flushed and leaking, so hard that Fingon was half amazed he hadn’t already come in his nice slacks with the too-small pockets. Fingon rubbed Maedhros’s hipbones, trying to get him less frantic, but all his attempts to slow things down were in vain. Maedhros just snarled at him again and rutted desperately against Fingon’s stomach.

“Shh, let me…” Fingon reached carefully behind Maedhros’s balls for the handle of the plug, and now Maedhros did cry, twisting against Fingon’s hand. “Baby, baby, hold still, let me get it out of you.” When he finally freed the plug from Maedhros’s body, Fingon yielded to the urge to push his fingers inside. Maedhros was hot and open and dripping, and Fingon’s fingers slipped in his own come. “ _Fuck._ ”

“Fuck me,” choked Maedhros. “If you don’t get in me right now – I will _kill_ you – ”

Fingon jerked Maedhros’s hips against him and Maedhros sank down with a ragged sob of relief.

Fingon watched in awe and delight as Maedhros fell apart completely, Fingon’s fist wrapped loosely around his cock, his thighs straining as he rocked back on Fingon in tiny, desperate movements to get him as deep as he could. It was over quicker than Fingon had ever seen it; hardly a minute before Maedhros cried out and slumped forward, his hands braced on Fingon’s chest.

“Sweetheart,” whispered Fingon.

Maedhros shook and whimpered through his orgasm, bent almost in half, his hair hanging into Fingon’s face. Fingon stroked him through the aftershocks, ignoring the mess of come on his stomach, and then rolled Maedhros over. Maedhros sprawled to the floor, his long legs clasped loosely around Fingon’s waist, his head lolling back. Fingon touched his temples and his closed eyelids and his open lips until Maedhros stirred and whispered, “Keep going.”

Fingon thrust into Maedhros slowly, bringing himself to his own more restrained climax. Maedhros shuddered around him, his fingers nerveless on Fingon’s shoulders, his hair a sweaty tangle around his face. He was beautiful, overstimulated, and a total disaster, and Fingon felt overwhelmed with love for him.

Soon Fingon pressed his lips to Maedhros’s breast and came, his own orgasm a quieter one breathed against Maedhros’s skin as Maedhros made low sounds in the back of his throat. Fingon pulled out of him, making an effort to be gentle, but Maedhros still moaned again. Fingon said something inarticulate but comforting and rolled onto his back with one arm splayed out.

Presently, he felt Maedhros curl up against his side.

“How are you doing?” Fingon stroked Maedhros’s back and winced as he felt teeth sink into his shoulder.

“I hate you so much.” Maedhros’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

“But you’re still going to marry me, right?”

Maedhros gave a groan and shivered again as Fingon’s come dripped out of him. “Finno…”

Fingon kissed him. “I know, I’m sorry. But you did so good, sweetness. You’re a champ, you’re a _monster._ ”

“Mngh.”

Maedhros would have stayed on the floor, naked and damp and sticky, for the rest of the night or the rest of his life, so Fingon pushed himself to kneeling and slipped his arms behind Maedhros’s shoulders and knees. Then he stood with no little effort, Maedhros limp in his arms.

“I’m not speaking to you ever again,” whispered Maedhros into Fingon’s shoulder when Fingon set him down on the bath mat.

“I understand. How about letting me run a bath? You can nod, that won’t count as talking to me.”

Maedhros flopped his head forward, which Fingon took as assent. He wrapped Maedhros in a towel and propped him against the toilet, tucking his straggling hair behind his ear. Then he pulled on his pajama pants, which were hanging on the back of the door, and started filling the tub.

Maedhros refused to speak to him as he lowered his body into the tub, his bony knees sticking up from the warm, fragrant water. He did concede to let Fingon stroke his hair, however.

“I put some oils in the water for the nice smell,” said Fingon, who was perched on the lip of the tub. “And when you’re ready, I could sponge you down?

Maedhros nodded again, his narrow shoulders hunched as he closed his eyes and breathed in the steam. Fingon wet a washcloth and ran it gently over his chest and shoulders, then down his belly. He backed off when Maedhros twitched and shook his head, and instead urged Maedhros to scoot down until his long hair floated in the water. Fingon ran his fingers through it, combing out the damp strands and dragging his nails against Maedhros’s scalp. Maedhros made a noise that couldn’t quite be described as disapproving, and leaned into Fingon’s touch.

Fingon smiled down at the fine red strands floating in the water, and at Maedhros’s face, loose and relaxed for once. His mouth looked soft and vulnerable, and Fingon bent down to kiss it, very lightly.

“I know you hate me,” he whispered, “but I just thought you should know that you are spectacular.”

“Mmnh.”

“And if you want…”

“Mnh?”

“If you want, you can punish me by making me go through the same thing.”

Maedhros’s eyes opened and he pushed himself up, water cascading down his chest. “Yes,” he said and pulled Fingon into the tub with him, ignoring Fingon’s laughter and half-hearted protests over the soaked bath mat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know how this turned into 5k words, it was supposed to be 1500. I guess destroying Mae’s butt really inspires me.
> 
> My apologies and appreciation to my college acquaintance, [redacted], whose rl experiences inspired 50% of this fic. I’m sorry that happened, [redacted]. I hope Wall Street is treating you well.


	5. Roles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some kinks would be infinitely easier if Fingon were a better actor.

The executive's eyes flashed dangerously, a warning and temptation both as he tugged his tie loose. Before his desk, the intern quailed, his slim hands twisting together. 

"I'm sorry..."

"Oh really, you're sorry? A pathetic excuse." The tie slid free, exposing a sliver of throat beneath the crisp linen of a thousand dollar shirt. Strong fingers gripped the edge of the desk. "You want to show me how truly sorry you are, get on your knees and - " He coughed. "And - "

"And what?" The intern looked up from beneath damp eyelashes.

"Get on your knees, like I was saying, and..."

"And?" said the intern encouragingly.

"And." The executive ran a finger under his collar. "And suck my d- I can't do this."

"No, you're doing great!"

"This is so unethical," said Fingon. He sank down in his wheely chair and cinched his tie up again. "What an awful person I am! I should be indicted."

Maedhros sighed and crossed the room. "I think you're missing the point of role play."

"Sexual exploitation of one's subordinates is terrible leadership," mumbled Fingon. "Also I'm no good at ordering and you said I should - "

"No good at ordering? Sure you are! You run a company now, in real life."

"Yeah, but my leadership style follows the premise that 'people who enjoy their workplace and receive respect from their employer are self-motivated to perform.' I took a seminar! I don't think jokes and casual backslaps are what get you blowjobs."

"It worked on me," Maedhros said. "But I take your point." He thought a moment and perched on the edge of Fingon's desk. Fingon traced the crease in his trousers and looked up at him unhappily. "I don't get it," said Maedhros gently. "You order me around in bed all the time."

"In bed! Not in my office!"

"I thought you said you were into the idea of doing it in here."

"I am, but, but...not as a VP." Fingon turned his face up to Maedhros's and he looked so woeful that Maedhros leaned down and kissed him in a thoroughly insubordinate fashion. "It's too real," Fingon said. "And also not realistic at all. I would never be such a horrible boss, you know I wouldn't." His earnest tone made Maedhros kiss him again.

"You have to make it different enough from how you are in real life that it actually feels like you're playing a role." Maedhros slid off the desk and straightened his pants. "That's what makes it hot, the fact that it  _is_  something you'd never do."

"Okay." Fingon took a deep breath and re-adjusted his tie. "Right. So you're my intern and you've...spilled toner on the carpet or something..."

"And I'm humiliated," Maedhros purred, and dropped to his knees on the floor. "And  _terrified_." He raised his eyes, wide with fear, and gripped Fingon's knee in desperate supplication. "Please, sir, I didn't mean to do it - Please don't fire me, I'll do anything to keep this job!"

"Th-," Fingon tried to look stern and seductive all at once and just looked worried. "That's good, because what I want you to do is - um. Take out my - And with your mouth, see... Hah, yes, I will show you punishment - Oh nosweetheart, don't look like that, it's not such a big deal!"

Maedhros sighed and sat back on his heels. "You're right, you're not cut out for this."

"You looked so sad! How am I supposed to sexually debase someone who just needs a hug?" Fingon folded his arms. "How would you have me do it? It's hard, okay, I'd like to see you try."

"Fine, take notes." Maedhros got up and made shooing motions until Fingon got out of his chair. He sat down and leaned back, crossing his long legs. He closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them they were bright silver and cold as ice. His fingers caressed the mahogany of the desk, ghosting over the satin finish. "So," he said softly, and Fingon shivered. "So... the new boy has made yet another mistake. What am I to do with you?"

Fingon shook his head, eyes riveted on Maedhros's immovable, beautiful face. He sat in the chair like he'd been carved in it but his fingers, like a separate creature, stroked sensuously along the wood. 

"On your knees," hissed Maedhros suddenly and Fingon dropped to the ground like his hamstrings had been cut. Maedhros leaned forward, elbows on his thighs and took Fingon's chin in one hand. "There's only one thing you're good for," he murmured, his gaze merciless and his nails biting for an instant into the soft skin of Fingon's throat. "And it's kneeling before me with my cock down your throat."

There was a long, hanging pause in which Fingon swallowed audibly and Maedhros smiled as he watched his pupils dilate. "Just so." He bent over Fingon, an unforgiving king above a beseeching supplicant, and Fingon felt genuine fear cut with delicious anticipation surge through him.

Then Maedhros blinked and sat back in the chair, gangly and awkward and himself again. He shifted around, adjusted the wrinkles in his pants, and cleared his throat. "Something like that, I guess."

Fingon was watching him, open mouthed. 

"What?" Maedhros chewed his lip and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "Too over the top?"

"Keep going," said Fingon hoarsely. 

"What? But you're the - That was just a demo. The whole idea was you getting to fuck me over your desk, it was going to be a display of power and - _I'm_  not an executive, I'm a middle school teacher, there's no role play for that."

Fingon rolled his eyes.

"And besides, my fantasy was - Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're a natural," said Fingon. "Keep going." Maedhros hesitated and Fingon stroked his ankle. "Especially since I've spilled the toner again and really, really deserve some professional re-education." He licked his lips. "Sir."

Maedhros stared at him. “You’re serious about this?”

“Dead serious. Please keep doing the thing with your eyes. And your, your hands..." Fingon's voice went low and hungry and he watched Maedhros's fingers like a cat watching a feather. "You should grab me like that again."

"You want me to touch you again?"

"That's what I want."

"Tough." Maedhros was on his feet in a single, fluid motion, his lean silhouette casting a shadow over Fingon's kneeling form. "You come in here unrepentant for your ineptitude and you have the audacity to make demands? I should have you out on the street." He caught Fingon's chin and tipped his head up. "I should have the shirt off your back." He released Fingon roughly and Fingon staggered, catching himself on the carpeted floor.

"Is that okay?" said Maedhros, out of the corner of his mouth.

"Yes, _yes_. I remember our safe word." Fingon winked and then did his best to cower. He wasn't very good at it. Maedhros was far better at stalking, which he did, until Fingon was crouched and pinned against the far wall.

"The shirt off your back," murmured Maedhros.

"Sir?"

"Give it to me. Don't look at me with that blush, I know you're shameless enough to strip for me here on the floor of my office.  _Your shirt_ , now, or I will throw you out on the street myself. No - leave the tie on."

Fingon's fingers shook on the buttons of his shirt and he slid it down over his shoulders. Maedhros watched each inch of skin it revealed, his lips curling in a hungry smile as the material slipped from Fingon's breast. He reached down to brush a peaked nipple and Fingon shuddered.

"Sir, please, I promise I won't do it again, please don't send me away."

"Why shouldn't I?" Maedhros's voice dripped disdain. "What do you possibly have of worth to me?"

Fingon groped for the waistband of his slacks. "Not much," he whispered, his voice shaking a little. "But..." His fingers fumbled on his belt buckle and hovered over his zipper. "Let me show you what I have to offer."

Maedhros bent and wrapped his fingers around Fingon's tie, jerking him close. "So you're going to play it that way?" he murmured. "Why, you filthy thing." He traced Fingon's lips with the tip of a finger, his own parting around a breath as Fingon sucked his finger into his mouth. "You filthy, beautiful thing."

"You think I'm beautiful?"

Maedhros seized him by the wrist. "Of course I think you're beautiful," he said, hauling Fingon up and spinning him around. He pulled Fingon's back against his chest and whispered into his ear. "Why do you think I hired you in the first place? Why wouldn't I want the most beautiful boy in the city in my office 12 hours a day?"

Fingon whimpered as Maedhros's tongue traced his ear. "That - that probably violates a lot of hiring practices - "

"Shut up," whispered Maedhros. 

"I mean to say, with this level of sexual harassment I could definitely report you to the better business bur - "

"Shut _up_ ," said Maedhros, his voice thick around a repressed laugh. He wrapped his arm more tightly around Fingon's waist and bit at his ear. His hand released Fingon's wrist and began to grope with the fly of his pants, making his way beneath to the warm bare skin. Fingon squirmed eagerly and clutched at Maedhros's thighs. "Don't wrinkle my clothes," said Maedhros, flinty and remorseless once more. "I promise my wardrobe is worth far, far more than yours and if you stain it..."

Fingon's eyes flickered to the worn button-down Maedhros was wearing, and had been wearing, since college. He bit his lips, trying not to grin. "No, sir. I promise, sir. But I can't stand it, sir, please, just tell me if you're going to fire me or not."

Maedhros gave a chilling laugh and Fingon clutched at his arm to stay upright as his knees went weak. "Job security is something you'll have to earn."

The heavy paperweight and the engraved cup of pens went flying as Maedhros swept an arm over the desk. Papers scattered and the fine wood creaked as a heavy weight was placed on it. For a while the only sounds were the rolling of pens finding corners to come to rest and muffled gasping. 

"You and your whining of workplace sexual harassment... Is it harassment if I touch you here?"

"Oh god, yes." Well-coiffed hair was disturbed as fingers knotted in it. "Definitely sexual harassment. Don't stop."

"Stay in character, goddamnit."

"Sir, please! If you - if you bite me there, my manager will see - "

"I'm your manager now." There was a growling sound and a tearing of fabric. "I'm your everything now."

Fingon's gasp was entirely without pretense. "God!"

"Yes," murmured Maedhros. "That too."

A blotter slid to the floor, where it did no good at all.

 

* * *

 

"I can't believe," said Fingon, sprawled across the desk, "that you ruined these slacks that badly."

Maedhros yawned and tipped back in the chair, putting his feet up on the desk, his bony toes nudging Fingon's bare shoulder. "It's not my fault you were so quick off the mark," he said, in his cool and lazy Executive Voice. "I gave you fair warning I was going to take my time regardless." Then he dropped a wad of tissues into the waste basket and gave Fingon a small smile that was not Executive at all. "Sorry, your desktop is going to be very smudgy."

"There are wet wipes in the closet. I think." Fingon stretched, groaned, and turned on his side, propping his head on his hand to study Maedhros. Maedhros was reclining like a king in the rich leather of the chair, his hair falling over his eyes, the old shirt pulled open and the flushed skin of his chest making his outfit seem anything but mundane. His trousers were still unbuttoned and riding low on his hips and Fingon reached out a hand to trace the line of red hair from his navel.

Maedhros was smiling at him, still more than a little in character. "Careful not to become too familiar with me, kid. I'm still your supervisor."

"No," said Fingon, and slid off the desk into Maedhros's lap. "You're my _everything."_


End file.
